#rontaker

Two weeks had passed since they started dating. They meet each other for lunch regularly, going to lower floors or nearby restaurants to grab a bite to eat, or staying at the rooftop, packed lunch in hand. The view from there is breathtaking.

They can't meet for dinner on weekdays, Undertaker doing overtime most of the time due to his debug work. Ronald wonders how he can ever type with such long fingernails, but he supposes it's a god-given talent he possesses, never questions it again.

What he /does/ question is Undertaker's hair.

How can it stay silky and smooth despite its length? How does it not have split-ends (he's actually checked once)? How does it always stay smelling like lavender? Being a man who's into hair fashion himself, working part time at his friend's parlor on some weekends (which he's glad for because the prettiest ladies request for him), he's always  wanted to ask about his hair.

One time they're at lunch, the wind blowing strongly against their bodies, Undertaker's hair continues to flow fluidly with it, rather than going wild all around the way Ronald's does. The half-blond, half-black-haired youth looks blankly at the other, staring at hair flowing softly in the wild wind, glorious and marvelous as if sparkles appear from them, exuding glamor.

/We shouldn't have done this./ echoes in his mind. Both because of the strong winds and the marvelous spectacle he's forced to watch because of it.

"Know what. Let's eat at my floor's pantry instead, the view's good there, too." He says, voice blank, secretly annoyed by the constant "How can someone's hair be so beautiful?" that barrages his mind. He's almost at the door when Undertaker's grabbed him by the arm.

"You don't want to eat here today?"

"The wind's damn strong, we'll get blown away."

"Oh, alright." Undertaker chuckles, which Ronald has discovered is quite unique. He's never heard anyone laugh that way, sounding creepy, but also cute.

They're walking down the emergency exit to the top floor, having to go through it before they get to the first elevator. While waiting for the elevator to arrive, Ronald asks, casually, without him thinking much about it.

"Why do you keep your hair so long?"

Ronald only realizes he's asked the question when he notices Undertaker is thinking about it. His heart stammers, covering his mouth with the free hand not holding his lunch.

"S-sorry! That might've been a private question--"

"I've always kept it long." The other replies, voice gentle. "I've never thought about cutting it."

"O-oh… Is that so?" Ronald breathes. Now that wasn't so bad, was it?

"Do you want me to cut it?"

"What?! No, no! Not at all." Ronald shakes his head vehemently.

Undertaker laughs, puts a hand at Ronald's cheek so he'd stop shaking his head. "You always study my hair. I was wondering it might be bothering you, thus the curiosity."

Ronald opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. How can he admit he's gotten quite obsessed with Undertaker's hair?

Undertaker looks up at the numbers of the elevator, sees that it's still at the 10s. He looks back at Ronald, amused that the youth is blushing, gaze fixed on the floor.

"So you like my hair?" Undertaker prompts, holding Ronald's cheek once more, this time with strands of his long silver hair between. Ronald jolts, blushes more madly red when he looks to Undertaker's eyes. The older rubs his hair against warm cheek. "It's silky, no?"

Ronald lets out a whimper he didn't know he was holding.

Undertaker licks his lips. "Know what, Ronald? I think I'll have lunch at this floor after all. If you don't mind, that is."

"Eh? What? Why?"

"I’d like to have you."

Undertaker doesn't give the youth time to absorb what he's just said, grabs him by the wrist to lead him to the nearest comfort room. Granted they've never gone all the way, they've gone as far as touching each other's throbbing cocks, kissing hungrily until the rush comes over them. They did it just the Saturday past, at Undertaker's place, the same day Undertaker realized Ronald's fixation on his hair. (The youth even went through his shampoo bottles. What an absolute cutie.) It shouldn't be too wrong they'd engage in such acts at the office toilets, right?

"Uhm, M-mr. Undertaker?" Ronald's voice is scared when Undertaker pulls him into a stall, locks it behind him. Ronald has fallen unto the toilet, thankfully closed, looking up at Undertaker with fear. It breaks the older's heart.

"I won't hurt you, Ronald." He whispers, his words bouncing the tiles. What amazing acoustics this comfort room has, he thinks for a moment, then realizes it would be /very bad/ if they get caught here. He turns his attention back to Ronald, who’s leaning away from him, back against the toilet. He puts a hand to the other’s cheek, levels his face to the other’s. He speaks in a low voice, "I'm just really hungry for you, you understand?"

Ronald groans at the delicious voice that falls from the other's lips. He can't find the words to respond, nods his head instead.

Undertaker smiles. "Good boy."

The older is quick with his fingers, undoes Ronald's belt and zipper in a matter of seconds. He keeps Ronald distracted with their lips connected, tongues dancing in a rushed pace, circling, twirling, pressing against the other. When Ronald's tongue misses Undertaker's mouth, going out of it, the older is quick to suck it back into his mouth.

"You still need to better your kissing." The older chuckles.

"Geez, I'm so--" The youth's breath hitches, his words heightening in pitch, when he feels Undertaker taking the head of his muscle in slender fingers. "so…rry…" He finishes his sentence, breathily, weakened. What follows is an endless stream of moans and hitchings of breath to Undertaker’s touch, fingernail to the tip of the youth’s cock, circles teased upon the tiny slit, making Ronald’s head snap back, hands banging unto the metal walls of the stall. The sound of the hit rumbles across the comfort room, widening both men’s eyes.

“S-sorry.” Ronald mumbles, breath in staccatos, while Undertaker’s unique laughter echoes after the metal banging. He mewls when Undertaker starts to move towards his aching need. “W-w-w-w-what-- Are you really gonna--?”

"Should I not?" Undertaker smiles, squatting in the limited space between the door and toilet so he could take Ronald in his mouth. He licks the tip, watching Ronald squirm as he sinks against the toilet seat. “You’re so cute.”

Ronald’s glasses are jagged on his nose now, sees Undertaker in a half-blur. The angle of his glasses, however, make him notice that the other’s hair falls unto the comfort room floor, thankfully clean, but still--

“Your hair!” The youth exclaims. He hurriedly grabs for long silver hair so none of it falls unto the floor.

Undertaker’s laugh echoes the room once more, drowning Ronald’s ears in its sweet ring. “You really do love my hair.”

Ronald gulps, cheeks flushed at both the man’s words and actions. The older has swallowed him halfway then, continues suck him to summon his juices forth. Ticklish prickles sprout where the older’s long fingernails brush against Ronald’s blonde curls. They’re at the office, in a comfort room stall, doing unspeakable things--sounds of which echoing, bouncing upon tiles, while he’s holding onto the man’s long, silky hair. It all feels inappropriate, but so desperately, delectably good.

Ronald comes into Undertaker’s mouth after the man starts to moan around his hardened length. The older leaves no opportunity for any drop to escape his mouth, drinking all that Ronald spurts into his mouth. He continues sucking until he’s sure the youth is spent, lying limp against the toilet seat, hugging his hair.

Undertaker’s chuckle wakes Ronald from his spell.

“Thank you for the meal,” the older says.

“No, th-thank /you/.” Ronald blushes. unable to meet the other in the eye. He doesn’t turn his head to look at the other, even when the older tucks him back into his boxers, redoes his pants and belt. He presses his lips together, wondering if the arousal he smells in the air is the aftermath of his climax, or if it’s the other’s. “W-what about you?”

“I’ll be off early today.” Undertaker licks his lips, guiding Ronald’s face by the chin to kiss him. “Let’s eat dinner together, hmm?”

“I’m sorry. I swear it was an accident.” was what he said when their lips brushed that one time.

It was a silly accident, but if two people’s fingers can brush by reaching for the same cup of coffee, surely two people’s lips can brush when they stand facing each other, so close because the elevator’s that packed. And when someone forces their way out of that tightness, pushing you off balance, you can’t quite control where your body–face and lips included–goes.

In Undertaker’s case, his body went forward after being pushed by a strong lady behind him. He expected his fall to be stopped by the two men in front of him, but their bodies weren’t able to stop him enough for his lips to brush against another man’s.

“I’m sorry. I swear it was an accident.”

“It’s alright. No big deal.” The other nervously laughs. They both try to face away each other, but the elevator fills once more, only brings them closer.

Undertaker forces himself out of the elevator before the young man he accidentally brushed lips with. Although he felt so awkward he could explode due to embarrassment because of that encounter, he hopes they could meet again.

***

Ronald doesn’t realize immediately that the man in front of him is leaning down toward him. When he lifts his head up to see why the man was leaning down, their lips brush. He’s left breathless for a moment, surprised by the action that came out of the blue.

“I’m sorry,” says his kisser. Ronald tries to see past his long, silver bangs to see sincerity in his eyes, but he can only see shadows. “I swear it was an accident.”

“It’s alright. No big deal.” He laughs nervously, for how does one deal with such a situation? They both try to face away each other, but the elevator fills once more, only brings them closer.

His kisser gets off the elevator before Ronald does. What a shame. He really would have liked to kiss those lips again.

***

Weeks pass. Neither meets the other. How likely was it for two men to meet again in the same elevator in a building with more than 30 floors?

Ronald sees him once, though, perhaps a month after their first meeting. But the elevator is packed, and they’re pushed to opposite sides. He can’t see through silver bangs if the other man saw him, too.

***

A month and a half later, a Friday night, Ronald is on the train home. He sees then, standing by the opposite doors, is his kisser. Perhaps it’s the alcohol, or the frequency in which he’s thought of those soft lips, Ronald quickly pulls the man by the arm. He needs only a split second to confirm this man really is his kisser–long silver bangs and a scar that goes across the other’s cheek before he’s pressed his face closer to the other’s. His left hand goes to the other’s cheek, guiding their faces to touch at the proper place. Their lips touch, only for a moment. A moment that goes by too quickly.

When they pull back, silver bangs have swayed so Ronald could see past them. Yellow-green. Just like him.

They look at each other’s eyes for a moment, awed, by either the similarity of their eye-color, or that they’ve met each other and have kissed again (finally).

Moments pass without them saying anything, which makes Ronald wonder if he’s really got the wrong guy.

With pursed lips, Ronald whispers “Sorry.” and walks away.

“Wait,” says Undertaker, grabbing onto the other man’s right wrist with his left.

Ronald looks back, eyes drawn to the man’s fingers sliding down from his wrist to his fingers. Ronald smiles, wordlessly steps toward the man so that they’re side by side, shoulder to shoulder despite there being space available in the train.

“Was this–was this an accident, too?”

Ronald grins, though the other doesn’t see. Undertaker’s gaze is fixed to the floor. “Nope.”

The train keeps chugging, the sound of wheels scraping against metal filling their ears aside from the deafening silence between them. The train stops at the next station. They don’t move away.

“Can we meet again?”

“Not by accident?”